


Where the Demon Stops

by WithTheKeyIsKing



Series: Sladick Fics [11]
Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Apocalypse, BAMF Dick Grayson, Blackmail, Conditioning, Creepy Slade Wilson, Deal with a Devil, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Hurt Dick Grayson, Kinda, M/M, Manipulative Slade Wilson, Post-Apocalypse, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Dick Grayson, Slade Wilson is a Dick, Slade Wilson's A+ Parenting, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-04 21:43:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18821317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithTheKeyIsKing/pseuds/WithTheKeyIsKing
Summary: In a post-apocalyptic society, Dick Grayson works hard to protect his friends, the only family he has left. Alone in a hostile world, survival is a daily struggle.Slade Wilson is a man with power and resources and for some reason past Dick's understanding, he seems to like the boy. Supplies are hard to come by, and Slade is practically offering Dick everything he needs on a silver platter...all he asks for in return is a bit of Dick's time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to whitewaffle on tumblr for this prompt: _"Can you write fic about this? In some post-apocalyptic world, YJ s1 team is a bunch of kids living by themselves, and Slade is a very rich &dangerous man who tries to lure Dick out with presents&supplies…"_
> 
> Lol this story was supposed to be 8,000 words max and fairly straightforward but then a secondary plot formed and it just...well, I've never been good at sticking to my original plan, have I? You should know that about me by now :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

They wear masks when they go outside.

It was necessary during the riots and the revolution, because you never knew who was an enemy and who wasn't. They implemented codenames then, too; it made communicating easier, identifying allies a much quicker process.

Now, though?

Now, with the world gone to shit and everyone simply trying to make something from the ashes, the masks are a way of unifying them, of connecting the lost, young survivors that they are. They also act as a sort of barrier against the outside world, and in this day and age, any barrier between you and the dangers of everyone else is a good thing.

That's not Dick's only reason, though. For him, his identity is just about the only thing he has left of his previous life, the only thing that he's been allowed to keep, without any chance of it being taken away from him. He knows his allies _(his friends, his family, the only people he has left)_ still don't understand why he wears his domino mask in their hideout, why he has them call him  _Robin,_ even after three and a half years, but they don't press anymore, which is all he can ask for.

So they wear masks when they go outside. And Dick never takes his off.

There's only three people still confirmed as alive that know his real name. One of them lives with him, one of them was overseas when everything went to hell and thus safe, and the third...

Well, the third he'd rather not spend too much time thinking about.

The problem is that currently, he's alone on a scavenging mission, which means he only has his thoughts to accompany him.

The bigger problem is that despite the fact that he's on a food and supplies mission, there are  _no fucking food or supplies._

Kaldur refuses to give up hope that there's something near them that they simply haven't found yet, despite the fact that things have been especially challenging the last eight months. They keep having to travel farther and farther from their basenicknamed  _the Cave_ to get the things they need to survive, let alone do it in something resembling comfort. It's anxiety-provoking being that far away, and they're technically not supposed to go alone, considering the danger.

(Dick's never been good at keeping to that rule.)

And he understands Kaldur's hesitationhell, all of them feel it to some extent. The idea of leaving the Cave is scary, because they have relative safety there and the rest of the world is made up of pure unknowns. Choosing to leave the Cave to find a new place is a life-or-death roll of the dice, one that could literally end with their demise.

Dick doesn't ever mention that he knows a place that would welcome them with open arms. They would all know who he meant, and they would all say no.

They would all confine him to the base for even suggesting it, too.

(He'd never even suggest it, though. He'd never put his family in that man's reach, any more than they already are simply by associating with Dick.)

He finishes walking through yet another completely empty store and sighs. It's expected, but still disappointing. He'll have to ask M'gann to check the radio again, see if they've gotten a response _(see if maybe,_ maybe, _Bruce is still alive-)_ because they need help, and they need it now.

Which is, of course, when Dick comes across the envelope.

He recognizes it immediately, but that doesn't stop him from freezing at the sight, his heart speeding up in his chest. His eyes trace the familiar penmanship, the familiar curves of his name against the familiar black folder.

This isn't the first time he's come across one of these waiting for him when he goes out on a mission. He doesn't know how the man knows when it'll be him sent out, or where he'll stop, but somehow it's always waiting.

Like every time before, he hesitates, a war waging in his mind. Because this is...help. This is what they need. This is what will get them through the next month or so with them all alive and in one piece. Winter is almost here, after all, and the Cave doesn't keep heat all that well. They need food and supplies. And this envelope...

He knows it'll be a list. A strangely _accurate_ and  _detailed_ list, actually, the kind that made Dick's hair stand on end the first time. It'll be a list of all the things they  _need_ right now, and even a few of the things they simply  _want._ And at the bottom will be four familiar words. The same each time, after the first.

_Come and visit, Robin._

Dick sometimes wonders why the man uses that name in his letters instead of his real one. Whenever they meet in person, the man delights in the fact that he knows more about Dick than Dick's friends even do, so he's never understood the difference in the letters.

He asked, once. The man had simply smiled at some private joke and not replied.

For the next twenty seconds, Dick manages to keep himself from stepping forward, from grabbing the envelope and opening it. He knows as soon as he opens it, he won't be able to stop himself from going. Because being confronted with such a list...well, he can never say no to providing for his family.

They  _need_ the help, or they won't last.

With hands that most certain do not shake, he picks up the envelope and tears it open, pulling out the folded piece of paper. His eyes scan the words quickly, his chest tight with anxiety. And it's...everything. It's what they need to get by for the winter, and then some.

It's a  _lot._ Which means payment...will be too.

The paper crinkles and tears in his hands, startling him. He pushes back his anxiety and heads out of the store, folding up the paper and putting it in his bag; he'll burn it later.

He gets on his motorcycle (so much siphoned gas, and even that's running low) and pulls out of the parking lot.

But instead of heading back towards the Cave, he goes in the opposite direction.

The path is a familiar one; this isn't the first time he's made this trip, anddespite what he tells himselfthis probably won't be the last.

The guards atop the gates, sadly, recognize him. He's suddenly struck by the thought of one of his friends accompanying him; what would they think of the way the men immediately call down for him to be let through, no questions asked? What would they think of him?

 _They'd know that you're saving all their asses,_ Dick thinks bitterly, _and they'd be grateful for what you're doing for them._

Dick drives his bike past the front gates and through the small marketplace that is set up right there, for the people of the community to barter and trade and sell.

He sees oranges and his mouth waters. He hasn't had an orange in...

Well, a very fucking long time.

"Hey, kid," someone calls in greeting when he reaches the front of the main compound. Dick recognizes him; one of the many nameless guards that seem to exist only to serve the man who runs it all. "You know the drill."

He does.

Dick pulls the keys out of the ignition and hands them over, breathing past the lump in his throat as his means of escape is temporarily removed. Then he raises his arms, pulling on a bored expression as the man pats him down for weapons.

His escrima sticks are taken from his back, but the guard barely even glances as them; he has them with him every time he goes out, and thus every time he comes hereall of the men know to expect it by now.

"Okay, all set," the guard says, tucking the escrima sticks under his arm. Dick doesn't know where they always take them, but he always gets them back when he leaves, so he supposes it doesn't really matter. "You can head on up, kid."

Dick just nods, not trusting his voice, and makes his way inside. He's been here enough times that the interior no longer shocks him, but it certainly had in the beginning; this compound is one of the few places left to have steady, lasting electricity.

But not only does the man have working lights, he has an honest-to-god running  _elevator._

A few years ago, stepping into an elevator would've been nothing. But now? In the fucked-up society they live in? This is fucking  _novel._

When he steps out on the third floor, he nods politely to the people he passes, who offer the same regard. Part of Dick wishes they didn't recognize him so obviously. He wishes that he was just one of a million kids the man does this with, and that his guards would have to check him over critically each time because there would be no familiarity.

Instead, one of the men he passes even asks how his family is doing. They know him. And sadly, he knows each and every one of  _them,_ too.

Dick knocks. He's been told many times in the past that he doesn't have to, that he can just enter, but he never does. That feels too homey, too familiar, too _peaceful._ This is not his home, and he will knock and wait for the call to enter. This is not his room, no matter how often the man offers.

"Come in," the familiar, deep rasp calls. Dick steels himself, and pushes open the door.

Slade Wilson is standing by the window, the one Dick knows looks over a pretty beautiful garden on the other side of the compound, his hands folded behind his back. He doesn't even glance towards the door before he says, "Dick, you're later than expected; did you and Kaldur get into a debate again?"

Dick hates that he's right. He hates that this man knows him so well, knows him better than his family does, maybe even better than he knows himself. He hates how well this man can read him before he's even stepped through the door.

He doesn't feel the need to reply to the comment because he knows Slade doesn't really expect him to, simply steps further into the room and closes the door behind him.

After a moment, Slade turns to face him. His one eye flicks over Dick critically and then he raises an eyebrow. "What's our rule, little bird?"

Dick hates that he calls him that. And he hates him for this fucking rule.

His fingers don't shake as he reaches up to remove his mask, though he knows they want to. He tucks the domino into his bag and then sets it down by the table in the corner, taking the momentary distraction to breath and calm himself further before raising his naked gaze to the man.

He almost laughs at himself.  _The man._ It's how he always thinks of Slade when not in this room, as if letting himself call him by his name even in his thoughts is like inviting the devil into places he shouldn't go.

He feels naked. He feels like he's giving up a piece of himself. And the worst part is that he knows Slade  _knows_ it.

"There are those baby blues," Slade murmurs appreciatively.

"Hi," Dick says softly, awkwardly, for lack of anything else.

Slade smiles, indulgent and amused and maybe even a little  _fond,_ though Dick ignores that just like every time before. The affection isn't real, or at least not worth putting faith in, and it's best to simply pretend he doesn't see it.

"Would you like food, information, or entertainment first?" Slade asks then, and Dick's breath catches, and he hates himself instantly.

Because it's never just the exchange that he gets when he comes to Slade. It's this, too. It's the fact that Slade offers him books to read and music to listen to and even fucking DVDs to watch, if he wants. It's the fact that he offers him  _information,_ on anything he wants.

It's how, five months ago, he learned that Alfred was still alive in England. Even got a message to him.

The connections Slade has...they're priceless.

And the weirdest thing of all, is that these parts of their interactions are always  _free._

"Music, please," Dick murmurs, and hates himself for asking for  _anything_ from this man, but he misses music and TV and stacks upon stacks of books. And Slade never asks for anything in return, at least not for these things. He stopped resisting it a long time ago.

Slade nods, looking satisfied, and heads over to the bookcase filled with CDs and records. "What are you in the mood for?"

Dick makes his way over to one of the armchairs and sits down, letting out a quiet breath at how  _soft_ it is. Even after months of coming here, it still manages to catch him by surprise.

"Anything," he replies. The world is so quiet nowadays. He doesn't care what Slade plays, only that it's something.

Soon, there's the crackle of a record player, and then an instrumental version of something starts to play.

He cracks a smile when he recognizes it.

"How can you possibly have that on a  _record?"_ he asks with a soft laugh, shaking his head.

Slade sits down in the other armchair, directly across from Dick, a small coffee table between them.

"The world went through a phase where everything was put on records, even stupid pop songs like this," Slade tells him dryly. "I knew someone who worked at the record company and they had a bunch of pretty good instrumental versions of some of their hits; they put it on a record for me some years back, before all this. And I know you like piano..."

He does. He really does, actually, and listening to stupid early 2000s pop music in that instrument is oddly comforting. He used to play, actually. There was a giant piano in the manor, and he used to spend hours teaching himself, learning songs, creating melodies...

It's buried in a pile of rubble now, with the rest of his belongings.

They sit in silence for the next twenty minutes, just listening to the music and the faint sounds from far below them outside, and Dick hates how comfortable it feels.

This isn't a man to get comfortable around. This man is a  _dangerous_ one, and if he lets himself forget it for even one second, then he loses another piece of himself.

He's already lost so much, out in the world and right in this room; he doesn't want to lose any more.

But he's so  _tired_ of fighting, of keeping his guard up. Everywhere he goes, even with his family around the Cavehe can never truly relax, never truly settle. Slade has spent the last year and a half offering him just that, and with each meeting it gets harder and harder to leave.

He knows that's the point.

He knows that he can't let it work.

"How's Rose?" Dick asks, simply to distract himself.

Slade snorts. "My daughter is..." He shakes his head, one corner of his lips tilting up. "She still lacks focus and control; she almost got her team killed last week because of sloppy work, I'm just..." He sighs, and then glances sidelong at Dick. "She could learn a thing or two from you."

And see, something Dick had to figure out very early on is that part of Slade's effectiveness is using the truth to his own gains. He does respect Dick's skill and abilities. He does believe that Rose could do with some extra training. But he's not saying it to be kind or truthful; he's saying it to get under Dick's skin, just like everything else he does.

He's saying it so that when Dick goes back home and remembers his friends treating him as slightly less-than at the very beginning of all of this simply because of his age, he'll think about how Slade's respected his abilities since the beginning, how Slade still thinks him leagues above the rest.

Everything's a manipulation with this man. Dick's so  _tired_ of it.

He plays the game anyway.

"Many could," Dick quips with a small, teasing grin.

"That reminds me," Slade says distractedly, "Lawrence was wondering after his daughter."

 _Liar._ Dick barely keeps himself from laughing outright. Lawrence Crock couldn't give less of a shit about Artemis' wellbeing, only how useful she could be to him.

"She's good," Dick says immediately, because not answering isn't an option, not if he wants the supplies at the end of this, not if he wants to abide by the various  _rules_ Slade laid out long ago. "She's become a really great hunter," he adds, because he has to say  _something_ but he's certainly not going to share anything personal about his friend.

"I'll be sure to tell him," Slade replies, a sparkle in his eye that shows that he knows what Dick's thinking. He always does, the fucking bastard.

There's a knock on the door, then, and annoyance flashes briefly across Slade's face before he calls for whoever it is to enter.

The person who comes in is one Dick knows by name, and actually knows well; William Wintergreen is Slade's right-hand man andif the gossip is to be believedalso acts as something of the man's moral compass.

Dick likes Wintergreen. He reminds him so strongly of Alfred that it's almost painful.

"William," Slade acknowledges, the softness of his voice the only sign of his fondness for the elder man. "What is it?"

"Adamson just returned with the item you requested," Wintergreen responds, inclining his head in a small gesture of respect. He offers Dick a kind smile, too.

Slade hums, pleased. "Very good. Bring it in, if you would."

Wintergreen departs, and Dick raises an eyebrow at Slade, curious. The man doesn't respond, simply smirks, and neither of them say anything until Wintergreen returns with a large, sleek black case. He hands it to Sladewho murmurs a quiet  _Thank you_ and then departs again, the door clicking shut behind him.

Dick is curious about whatever is in that case, but he doesn't want to ask. There's a high likelihood that this is some attempt by Slade to get Dick invested in something at the compound; it wouldn't be the first time he tried something like this, and probably wouldn't be the last. Dick doesn't want to get invested in anything Slade has to offer. He's tangled up here enough already.

After a moment, Slade extends the case towards Dick. Dick stares at it. Slade quirks a smile.

"Well?" the man asks, sounding amused, almost close to a  _taunt._ "Are you going to take it?"

Dick purses his lips and reaches out to take the offered item.  _Does this have a cost attached?_ he wonders.  _Will you ask for something in return?_

The case is held closed by three clasps and he slowly undoes them before lifting the lid, taking a peek inside. What he sees makes his breath catch and he opens it the rest of the way, his eyes wide and his lips parted.

Inside the case, held carefully in place by foam, are two escrima sticks. And, frankly, they look  _expensive._ Made up of shining black metal with silver bottoms, they look like they were made for world-famous fighters. The ones he already owns are certainly fantastic, the wood sturdy and well-taken care of, but these are...almost otherworldly.

"Oh," Dick says faintly, unable to tear his eyes away. "Wow, these arewow."

He can feel Slade's eyes on him, feel the man's smug smile. He hates that Slade has done something like this, has given him something so amazing, given him something that Dick _wants._ It's what Slade always does; gives him what he needs and wants and show him how  _nice_ life here could be, if he only said yes-

"They also both have a taser that is activated in the grips, and they connect and extend in order to form a bo staff," Slade tells him. "I know that tends to be your secondary weapon, and I thought having both readily available would be nice."

Dick pauses. He still doesn't look up; he doesn't want to see Slade's expression, doesn't want to meet his eyes. "Did you have these made for me?"

"Of course," Slade purrs. "Every time you come here your escrima sticks are more and more damaged; still solid, of course, but I thought with the amount of fights you end up getting yourself into..." He trails off, but he's already made his point.

"Thank you," Dick says softly. He runs a hand delicately over the metal. "They're...amazing." He raises his eyes now, meeting Slade's gaze.

"You're very welcome, Dick," Slade says, inclining his head. A smiling is tugging at his lips, pleased and smug, and the look in his eye is intense. "I hope they serve you well."

 _How will I explain this to my friends?_ Dick wonders; they'll surely notice an addition such as these, clearly brand new and expensive. How the hell did Slade even  _get_ these? There's maybe...what? One or two factories still making things across all of North America?

Well, it shouldn't surprise Dick to know that Slade has easy access to one of them. Maybe he even runs it. Actually, that sounds very likely.

Dick clears his throat; he can't let himself get swept away in this. Slade is manipulative and cunning and has made it very clear that he wants Dick to stay; he can't let himself buy into everything here. He can't let himself indulge in the idea of what his life would be like.

He has people counting on him. And the price of staying...He can't lose any more of himself than he already has.

"The list," Dick blurts out, trying to get his mind away from all of that. He closes the case, shutting each of the latches, and then sets it on the ground. "You gave me a list of things you were offering." He pauses. "It's very generous."

Slade's eyes flick down to the case thoughtfully, and then back to Dick's face. "It is," he agrees, dipping his chin. "Winter is almost here, and there's quite a lot that your family needs to make it through safely. I can always be generous, little bird."

The reference to his family isn't accidental; it's a reminder of all Dick has to lose, all he's fighting for. It's a reminder of why he's here at all.

"Of course," Dick replies. He makes himself smile, small and grateful. Slade's eye sparks; he knows it's fake, but he appreciates the effort. He always does. "I'm very thankful for all the help you've given us."

Slade simply smiles as him. And because of the number of things the man's offering this time, because of how much Dick  _needs_ them, the price is certainly high. He knew that back when he found the letter earlier. He accepted it. Now he just has to follow through.

Dick gets fluidly to his feet and moves around the coffee table towards Slade. The man watches him come calmly, lips quirked and eyebrow raised.

He's proud, Dick knows; like an owner whose dog is doing a neat trick. In the beginning, Dick certainly hadn't been able to take this initiative, to do what he needed to do. In the beginning, Dick remembers a lot of shaking on his part and cajoling on Slade's.

Now, like a trained pet, Dick knows how this works.

He swings a leg over Slade's thighs and straddles his lap, then wraps his arms around the back of the man's neck. He doesn't flinch or hesitate, just leans in and kisses Slade.

One more thing Dick hates about this whole fucked-up arrangement of theirsSlade always makes it good for him. When the man picks him up and takes him to bed, it's never selfish or cruel. He always  _worships_ Dick's body, like it's important to him.

Dick's pretty sure that part's not a manipulation. He's pretty sure that's just a side effect of a fucked-up mind, just like all the rest of this. Slade wants him, all of him. And, the worst part, is that he wants Dick to want him, too.

Though he certainly has no problem settling for this being coerced and not exactly consensual. Dick will never forget how hard Slade got in the beginning when confronted with Dick's anxiety and resistance.

When everything finishes, Slade gets a wet towel and wipes them both down. They both pretend that Dick's hands aren't shaking, just a little bit. They both pretend for a moment that Slade isn't thinking about simply tying him down to keep him there, to make sure he stays, consent be damned.

And Dick pretends that he doesn't wish this was different, that he could actually be safe here, that he could take care of his family by bringing them here. He pretends that he doesn't want this security, pretends that he's not tired, pretends that he doesn't worry that he's broken.

He pretends that being around Slade doesn't make him miss Bruce with everything he has.

"Pasta or pizza?" Slade asks. He looks calm and unbothered, like he didn't just spend fifteen minutes fucking a sixteen-year-old boy, like both of them aren't stark naked.

"Pizza," Dick sighs. He just wants to leave, but he can't. This is one of the ruleshe has to stay for a meal.

They eat in silence for a little while, the music playing faintly in the background. Dick's eyelids are drooping and he leans back against the pillows, hating himself for absolutely loving the pizza Slade's giving himhe hasn't had freshly made pizza in  _years._

Someone knocks, making Dick jerk upright.

"Enter," Slade calls in a bored tone, making Dick gape.

"We are naked," Dick hisses in outrage. Slade simply grins and doesn't respond, turning to see who is entering.

And now Dick is gaping for an entirely different reason, because that's...that's Roy Harper. Speedy. His friend.

Roy's eyes slide over him, looking amused by the young teen sitting next to Slade, both of them completely devoid of clothing. Dick is briefly terrified that Roy recognizes him somehow, that he's about to have his secret revealed, butno. Roy never saw his face. He doesn't know that this black-haired teen is anyone special.

"Jade and I were successful," Roy tells Slade, keeping it vague in front of someone he doesn't know.

 _Since when are you working for Slade?_ Dick wants to scream.  _What happened to you after you left us?_

"That's very good," Slade says approvingly. "I have your payment." He glances at Dick, and Dick can see the amusement in his eye. "Little bird, would you grab the white envelope from my desk, please?"

Dick withholds a sneer and gets silently to his feet, not letting any recognition show in his face. On top of a pile of folders is a thick white envelope, held closed by a rubber band. He tosses it to Slade and leans back against the desk, giving off an unbothered air.

Roy's eyes run over his naked body, a slight purse to his lips, before looking back to Slade, raising an expectant eyebrow.

Slade flips through the envelope, clearly counting the money, and then holds it out, offering it to Roy. Roy purses his lips and then starts forward, taking it from the older man.

"Thanks," he says shortly, and shoves it into the small bag slung across his back. They must've confiscated his quiver and arrows, the way they took Dick's escrima sticks. "Pleasure doing business with you."

He heads for the door. He makes it as far as putting his hand on the knob before Slade calls out to him. "Oh, Harper?"

Roy pauses. Dick wants to scream at him to go, but the archer won't; he clearly has a business arrangement going on with Slade, and he isn't going to ruin it by storming out.

"Yeah?" Roy asks, turning back around. His expression is guarded.

"I have a job for you, low-risk. Interested?" Slade asks, raising his eyebrows. Dick crosses his arms, suddenly feeling anxious. What is this about?

"Sure," Roy says hesitantly. His eyes flick to Dick momentarily. "What's the job?"

Slade looks at Dick. "Little bird, the green folder, if you would?"

Dick doesn't appreciate that he's being ordered about at the moment, but Slade hasn't used his name, which he could easily do. He could so easily call him  _Robin._ But he hasn't, and as long as Dick plays along, he won't.

So, Dick turns back to the desk and shuffles through the folders until he finds the green one, then brings it over to where Slade is lounging.

"Who's the kid?" Roy asks as Slade flips idly through the folder. Dick withholds a frown; Roy is only three years older than him.

Slade snorts. "Hardly a kid," he says, and Dick hates that he appreciates it. "If  _you're_ not a kid,  _Speedy,_ then neither is he."

Dick freezes, and Roy startles, tenses, and narrows his eyes. "How do you know that name?"

"I know a lot of things," Slade says with a smirk. Then he looks up from the folder and holds out three pieces of paper. Dick can't see what they say, but there's definitely a lot on them. "Your job, if you're up for it."

Roy stares for another few moments, not a fan of the new imbalance Slade has just presented; Speedy was the name Roy used with them, not something Slade should know to identify. _Wouldn't_ know, if not for his obsession with Dick, an obsession that drove him to know everything about the boy's life.

"What is it?" Roy asks. He walks forward but doesn't reach for the offered papers.

"Why don't you take these and find out?" Slade taunts, wiggling the papers in the air.

For a moment it looks like Roy isn't going to, but then he starts forward and snatches them, eyes scanning the pages. Then, he laughs. "You're joking, right?"

"Most definitely not," Slade says smoothly. "Why? Don't think you can do it?"

Dick curses internally; pride's always been Roy's fatal flaw, and it isn't hard to figure that out. Slade certainly has, and he's using it to his advantage. Slade  _always_ uses the things he knows to his advantage.

"Of course I can," Roy scoffs, but his eyes are narrowed. He folds the sheets of paper and tucks them into his bag with the envelope of money. "I'll let you know when it's done." Then he offers a sloppy, two-fingered salute and strides from the room.

There's a moment of tense silence. Then Slade says, "Ask, Dick."

"Since when is Roy working for you?" Dick demands.

Slade puts on an expression of mock surprise. "Oh, do you know him? I had no idea." When Dick doesn't calm, Slade sighs and shakes his head. "Harper is a survivor, and he knows that _I_ am the best way to  _stay_ alive." He gives Dick a brief, pointed look. "He and his girlArtemis' sister, actuallydo jobs for me from time to time in order to help them and their little girl."

Dick's next words die in his throat.

"Roy has a daughter?" he asks, eyes a little wide.

Slade nods. "He does. Her name is Lian; she's just about a year old." Dick opens his mouth again but Slade shakes his head. "No more questions, little bird; come finish your food, and then you can head out."

Dick briefly considers protesting, but that would be stupid; he needs to put his old friend out of his mind and focus at the people he still needs to take care of back at the Cave. Roy's clearly doing what he has to in order to protect his familyit's something Dick can understand.

"Of course," he says instead of more questions, and settles back onto the bed next to Slade. They finish their food in silence that's no longer easy and comfortable  _(thank fucking god)_ , Dick's mind moving too quickly now.

Slade chuckles about something but doesn't explain when Dick glances at him.

"Samuel will have everything ready for you down in the courtyard," Slade says as Dick gets dressed ten minutes later. "Don't forget your gift, by the way." He nods towards the case, still on the ground next to the armchair.

Dick hesitates, and then picks it up carefully, almost reverently. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Slade smile.

"Thank you again," Dick says softly.

"You're very welcome, Dick," Slade tells him graciously, inclining his head. "Would you like to use the shower before you go?"

In this moment, Dick feels like screaming. Because  _yes,_ he wants to use the shower. He wants to scrub his skin red, burn off the feeling of Slade's touch, try to erase the memory of what he did here today. It isn't rape, what he and Slade do, but it certainly isn't something he would normally consent to, either.

Dick does this for his family. And he hates that if they truly understood what he was doing, they would probably look at him with disgust.

He also hates that, on the other side of everything, he simply wants to take a shower. He wants to have access to an elevator and eat oranges and have freshly made pizza. He wants to sleep in a big, actual bed and not worry each day about if he's going to survive. He wants to let Slade take care of him. He's so  _tired_ of fighting.

Once, about a year ago, Slade managed to convince him to drink quite a bit. And when they were both tipsySlade certainly less than Dickthe man told him that if he stayed, if he remained at the compound as a permanent resident, then he could dictate any physical contact that they had.

 _'I just want you here, little bird,'_ he'd said.  _'_ _Stay, and pick what you want.'_ And Dick had known that somehow, he actually meant it.

He'd been so tempted. Because that was the perfect deal, wasn't it? Safety and security and a home and Slade's company but no necessary touching, none of this deal that they have.

But he couldn't trust it, and he knows it. He does. He can't stay, not with everyone counting on him. He can't stay, unsure whether or not Slade would eventually push for more.

"No, thank you," he says, voice barely more than a whisper, and then leaves quickly before Slade can say anything else to make him hate himself for _wanting._

* * *

They have a small cart that they attach to the back of his motorcycle, filled with all of the items Slade promised him, supplies they really need and items that will make their lives easier.

He has his domino mask back on, and it helps him regain a piece of his sense of self. It helps him put Slade behind him as he drives away, just a bit. Never enough, of course. Never enough.

About halfway back to the Cave, he pulls over.

He opens the case holding the escrima sticks Slade gave him and stares at them for a moment, debating chucking them into the bushes that line the road. Tossing them wouldn't help him, of course; it would be more petty and symbolic than anything else. Because he knows, now, that whenever he uses them he'll think about how Slade gave them to him, how Slade gave him something that is keeping him safe.

He doesn't want to have to be grateful about that. He's already grateful for enough of that man's  _gifts._

"Don't be childish," Dick mutters. "Don't be stupid."

He removes the new escrima sticks from the case and then freezes. They are...perfectly balanced. As in,  _exactly_ the same as his wooden ones where it counts. Which means that somehow, Slade had had someone take down the specifications of his escrima sticks and simply create a better version.

It's...eerie.

Shaking himself from his surprise, Dick rests them on the motorcycle seat as he walks into the bushes and puts the now-empty case there; he doesn't need it, and frankly it looks pretty suspicious returning with.

Heading back to the bike, he pulls his wooden escrima sticks from their holders on his back and purses his lips, hesitating. These have served him well the past four years. But he can't put sentimentality ahead of efficiencythe metal ones are sturdier and of higher quality, and have the useful feature of becoming a bo staff. Plus, that electric current running through them that he can activate will certainly come in handy.

Dick tucks the wooden sticks into his pack and then slides the metal ones into the holder on his back. He hates to admit it, but he's looking forward to practicing with the new weapons.

Slowly he pulls back onto the road, heading towards the Cave. It's another three and a half hours before he reaches their home base, and for the last forty minutes he's praying that no one will be in the atrium, that he can get in, put the supplies away, and then slip off to his room to take a nap. He doesn't want to have to face anyone yet.

For the most part, he's successful. He thanks his lucky stars and quickly puts everything away where it's supposed to be. After a moment's hesitation, he grabs one of the bars of soap for himselfhe figures since he's the one who brought all of this in, maybe he can get first use of the brand new items.

Dick turns around to head to his room and freezes. M'gann and Artemis are standing in the doorway, staring at him. M'gann looks concerned and surprised. Artemis looks the same, but far more muted and with far more suspicion.

He doesn't take it personally; Artemis tends to deal with all emotions rather defensively.

"Hi guys," Dick says awkwardly. "What's up?"

"Where did you get all of this, Robin?" M'gann asks, her brow furrowed in worry.

Dick wishes she wouldn't ask; they all know, or at least have some idea. This certainly isn't the first time he's returned with lots of supplies, nor the first they've confronted him. He really wishes they'd  _stop asking_ and simply be  _grateful._

"Was my lucky day," Dick mutters, and starts forward, intending to slip between them.

Simultaneously they step together, blocking the exit. Artemis has her arms crossed, eyes narrowed. M'gann puts a hand on his arm instinctively to halt him, and he flinches at the contact; he really doesn't want to be touched right now.

Of course, neither of the girls miss that motion.

"Robin-" M'gann begins, eyes bright with concern.

"It's nothing," Dick interrupts, offering his friend a smile. "I'm tired, though, so I think I'm gonna go to bed. You guys should claim one of the coats; they look really comfortable."

This time, they let him push past them when he tries, and Dick lets out a relieved breath. But his relief is short-lived as he hears them quietly follow him down the hall towards his room.

Dick sighs and rubs a hand over his eyes, but doesn't try to stop them.

Neither of them say anything as he starts emptying his bag, putting things away; he leaves the letter in there, though, with plans to burn it later.

He hears M'gann make a surprised noise when he starts to strip, and then a snort from Artemis. Maybe part of him hoped that would drive them from the room, but he should've known better; they're stubborn, and have known him for long enough to not be embarrassed by his lack of clothing as he changes.

"Alright,  _what?"_ Dick snaps after a little while, turning back around the face them in gym shorts and a t-shirt. And, of course, his mask.

"Those are new," Artemis comments, nodding to where he put the metal escrima sticks.

"Are they?" Dick answers vaguely, looking at the sticks in faint interest, and doesn't say anything else.

"Wally told us that you knew him," M'gann blurts out. "From before, I mean."

"M'gann," Artemis hisses, displeased.

Dick blinks at them. They already knew that he and Wally knew each other before the world went to shit. That's not news, so why are they acting like it is?

Then understanding dawns. They're saying that Wally told them someone  _else_ knew him before.

"Wally should keep his mouth shut," Dick mutters. He snatches the new escrima sticks and pushes past them again, heading out the door. Once again, they follow him, but he keeps his head high and heads for the room where they have a few dummies, targets, and punching bags set up. Their own mini training room.

Dick really likes this room; it takes him back to the early days of the revolution, when the Manor was still standing and Bruce was training him. The days when everything was tense but still felt like it was going to be okay. The days when Dick still had his dad.

He puts the sticks down on a bench and goes to work on a punching bag.

He's angry at Wally, and maybe he's even a little afraid. How did the topic even come up for them? Why did Wally tell his secret? Why wouldn't they leave him alone and be grateful for what he was doing for them? Because of him, they now would be perfectly fine for the next few months. So what if he had to let Slade fuck him? They were  _safe_ now, because of him. For the next few months they were  _safe._

"Robin, please talk to us," M'gann murmurs. "Just tell us what's going on."

Dick doesn't respond. He just keeps throwing punches.

After a moment, Artemis strides over and stands on the other side of the bag, bracing it for him. Her jaw is set in determination, and Dick knows this conversation is far from over.

Why now? He's been getting supplies from Slade here and there for the past year and a halfwhy do they suddenly want to talk about it?

"What does he ask for in return?" Artemis asks him. "All that shit you just brought backthat's  _insane._ That'll take care of us for  _months._ Slade Wilson isn't a generous man; so it's time you tell us the price you're paying."

"Your father sends his regards," Dick says, because he's feeling  _sharp._

The words surprise the archer and his next punch to the bag sends her stumbling back.

Artemis regains control quickly, though, and stands tall, fire in her eyes. "We are a  _team,_ Robin! A  _family!_ For three and a half years it has been the seven of us against the rest of the worldquite  _literally._ You have to let us in, man. Whatever price you're paying, it's not worth it, it's-"

"Yes it is!" Dick yells back. He straightens, hands balled into fists at his sides. "Eleven months ago, Zatanna would've  _died_ from that stab wound without the medical supplies Slade gave me. Five months ago, Conner and Kaldur would've  _died_ of heat stroke when the car broke down in the _goddamn desert_ if not for the cooling pads and flats of water Slade gave me. Don't you get it, Artemis? We  _do_ need his help! And the fact that he's willing to give it to me?" He laughs, a tinge of hysteria in his voice. "The price  _is_ worth it. We won't survive otherwise."

"Oh, Robin," M'gann murmurs sadly, shaking her head, but doesn't say anything else.

The room falls into tense silence.

"He knows your name, then?" Artemis asks after a while. Dick pretends not to hear the bitter edge to her voice. He has enough bitterness of his own; he doesn't want to deal with hers.

"Like Wally said," Dick sighs, "he knew me before."

"How?" M'gann asks. Dick doesn't reply. M'gann's brow crinkles, and then she declares, "Let's make cookies and brownies."

Dick and Artemis look at her incredulously as she strides away, heading in the direction of the kitchen. The pair of them glance at each other and then follow her, Dick sighing and Artemis rolling her eyes.

None of them say anything as M'gann goes about getting things to make cookies, improvising where they're lacking. Dick sits on the counter top and mixes what he's told. Artemis sits backwards on a chair at the table and does the same.

They both look worried, Dick notices. Artemis is hiding it better, buthe's their friend, and they're worried about him. They want him to be safe, the same way he wants them. They just want to help. They just want to understand.

Dick sighs, his eyes fixed on the floor.  _Here goes nothing._ "My dad was a leader of the resistance."

Both girls startle and look at him, wide-eyed. They don't say anything, though, which Dick is grateful for. He continues.

"He was one of the three heads, and I mean the  _heads_ of it. I remember being in the background of so many meetings through the years, meeting the who's-who of the Most Wanted list. The identities were secret, though, so we continued to live our normal lives with no one the wiser." He glances at them briefly before lowering his eyes again. "It's how Wally knows me; his uncle Barry was a member of the resistance, and when Barry had to go underground for a bit, Wally stayed with me and my dad."

"And Slade?" M'gann asks quietly when Dick doesn't continue.

Dick purses his lips. "Slade was...a business man. An opportunist. He came to our home once for a large Christmas party, with his son. He didn't know who my dad really was, just thought he was an airheaded, rich socialite. Slade was...sharp and intelligent, and by the end of the night he was suspicious."

"Of your dad," Artemis extrapolates, nodding.

But Dick shakes his head, smiling crookedly, ruefully. "Not at all, actually. My dad had been doing this a while, and Slade left that night 100% sure that he was a stupid playboy, easily controlled but not a strong ally. No, he was suspicious of  _me."_

Both girls stare at him. Neither of them ask for more information, but they clearly want it. And since Dick is apparently in a sharing mood, he explains.

"I was only nine when this happened. My dad was training me, because he knew the world was a dangerous place and he wanted me to be ready. And since I was just a kid, I got bored during the party, antsy under all the attention from my dad's many rich guests. I snuck off to the balcony with a couple throwing knives. I was just practicing, making up targets and then hitting them. Slade found me there."

Dick purses his lips. "It was...I was afraid, at first. My dad and I were so careful to never show any signs of being something other than a random pair of rich people, and suddenly I was being seen throwing actual daggers with precision. But Slade didn't look angry; instead, he looked delighted. He walked closer and said  _'Careful to not let your daddy see you doing that; he doesn't seem the type to be happy that his son wants to do something useful and join the revolution."_

"Shit," Artemis chuckles, shaking her head.

Dick snorts his agreement. "I was absolutely stunned. I stuttered out a denial, of course, but he didn't buy it.  _You're not just having fun, kid,_ he'd said; _you're throwing with focus. You have a target in mind, and it's not that statue."_ Dick's lips twitch. "He then told me to be careful, that the govs were looking for any excuse to make an example of someone; a billionaire's son would certainly be a good target. He said if I ever wanted to fight for someone with a brain, that I should look for him."

"And how did he find you again?" M'gann asks. "He couldn't've kept track of your through the riots and collapse of everything, there's no way."

Dick shrugs a shoulder. "Before we all found each other, I ended up traveling with Slade's son for a bit. Joey was actually a really sweet kid, just about a year older than me, and in the fall of Gotham we both lost contact with our fathers, not even knowing if they were alive." He purses his lips. "Joey found his dad eventually. I didn't.

"Anyways, Joey probably told Slade about the trained kid he'd been traveling with, but with everything in so much chaos, they couldn't track me down immediately. I found you guys and we became a team. About two years ago we fought against some of Slade's men, remember? Well through them, Slade managed to track us _me_ down after a couple months. He offered me a simple deal. I accepted."

The room falls silent again.

He can see that they have many questions, so much that they want to ask him about the arrangement and what he's giving up, about his life before all this. But they hold back, and for that Dick is immensely grateful.

"What happened to Joey?" M'gann asks instead.

Dick smiles. "He's alive. He got pretty badly injuredhis vocal cords were cut, and he can't speak anymore, but other than that he's okay. Split from Slade about a year ago, actually." His smile fades. "He learned what his dad was doing, and he didn't approve." He clears his throat. "Anyway, Joey's a sweet person. Slade's other son, not so much. His daughter's mostly obsessive, not actually evil. So, at least he got a wide spectrum in the genetic output."

M'gann cracks a smile and Artemis snorts. They're trying really hard to act unbothered by this. He appreciates it more than they possibly know.

"Your sister has a daughter, by the way," Dick says softly.

Artemis startles, her lips parting. "What?"

Dick nods. "Her name's Lian, she's just about a year old."

"Did youdid you meet her?" Artemis asks. Her tone is a demand, but her voice cracks halfway through.

"No," Dick says, shaking her head. "But..." He wets his lips. "The father's Roy."

"Speedy?" M'gann exclaims incredulously.

Dick nods. "The very same. I saw him today. He's doing some jobs for Slade, simply trying to earn money for Jade and his daughter. He didn't know who I was," he adds.

"You weren't wearing your mask," M'gann marvels.

"...No," Dick admits quietly. "It's...I'm not allowed to while I'm there." He shrugs a shoulder, like it's no big deal. "But, yeah. Roy has a kid. With your sister, Jade. If I, uh, learn anything more, I'll definitely tell you."

Artemis nods mutely, staring at the wall. "Right. Thanks, Robin."

Silence, once more, falls.

Dick wants to go to bed. No, he wants a shower. Or at least a bath. As long as it's scalding hot. He wants to leave all of this behind. He wants to have Bruce and Alfred and his life back. He doesn't want to keep going to Slade, letting him-

M'gann places her hand on top of his in what is meant to be a comforting gesture, but it makes Dick flinch, like before.

"Robin-" M'gann begins, sounding heartbroken, as she quickly pulls away.

"I just need sleep," Dick interrupts. He gets to his feet and doesn't look at either of them. "I just need sleep, and then I'll be back to normal."

He slips out of the room before they can say anything else.

* * *

The next few weeks pass uneventfully.

Kaldur, when he sees the new supplies, gives Dick a long look and quietly says, "A fruitful outing, then." He doesn't comment otherwise, and Dick is grateful.

Wally bites his lips nervously, his eyes flitting around to each of his friends, but doesn't say anything. Conner clenches his jaw and shares a look with M'gann. Zatanna briefly puts her hand on Dick's arm  _(this time he doesn't flinch)_ and says, "I hope you know we're here."

Other than that, none of them react to the supplies they now have, supplies that will truly save their lives. The air is starting to chill, the ground is starting to freeze. The coats, blankets, food, and a million other things that Slade has given Dickthis is their safety for the winter months.

Dick practices with his new escrima sticks and hates how much he loves them. They are perfectly weighted, steady in his grip, and stable when connected and extended to form a bo staff. They also  _somehow_ have a bit more  _bounce_ to them, making them come back harder when hitting a wall.

He spends hours practicing that, and has to admit that it makes him a little giddy when he perfects catching them while in a flip or jump.

A month passes, then another, and another. They all spend a majority of their time inside, doing their best to avoid the terrible chill (made easier by the packets of insulator Slade somehow fucking gave him), and Dick is grateful when spring comes around, feeling antsy.

When it warms, Artemis starts teaching Wally to use a bow. Dick doesn't think he's laughed that hard in  _years,_ and he can tell that his other friends feel the same. Wally takes it all in good fun, probably just as relieved to have something  _light_ in their lives when surrounded by so much darkness.

It's three months after Dick got the supplies that he finds the hidden item.

He's taking stock of the cans of food they have, sorting the things they have left into categories. He pulls everything out of one of the boxes and tosses it away for the moment. Something clatters inside; Dick frowns and walks over, examining it. That's when he sees the small false panel, and he slowly pries it open, his eyes going wide.

Inside a small little area is an iPod, headphones, a charging cord and base, a portable charger, and a charging cord for  _that_ as well. There's also a folded up piece of paper with it.

Dick's fingers most certainly do  _not_ shake when he reaches for it and unfolds it.

_Little bird_

_I know you think the world is too quiet nowadays, and miss music. This was a bitch to get working and filled, but I think you'll find it to your liking. 5,000 songs, ranging from that stupid pop shit you like to rock &roll to classical. The portable charger can do 5 full charges before it dies; hope it serves you well._

_See you next time._

There was no need to sign it; there's no way Dick could ever mistake who this is from.

Why does he know him so well? When did Dick get in so deep that Slade so offhandedly recognizes one of Dick's deep truths right now, that the silence of the world these days is almost screamingly intense and Dick can barely _stand_ it. He misses the ever-present noise of Gotham, or Metropolis, or Central City. He misses the sounds of life or civilization or even fucking _people_ in general.

Hell, at this point Dick would probably be grateful for nothing more than one track on this iPodthe honking of cars, the screeching of traffic. He could listen to that for  _hours._

Dick's hand is tight around the iPod as he picks it up. This gift is...just as spectacular as the escrima sticks. 5,000 songs? This will bring him such peace. Trips out can take hours and hours; being able to listen to music during them is going to be so phenomenal. And then when traininghe used to  _love_ listening to music when training.

"Why can't you leave me alone?" Dick whispers, staring down at the device hatefully. "Why do you keep doing this?"

And why hide it away this time? Slade has always loved watching Dick receive the big gifts, the ones he  _knows_ will hit Dick the hardest. But hiding it away in a box of supplies? That's such an odd decision. He must've known that Dick wouldn't notice it for a while, not until their supplies were running low and the rattle in the crate was noticeable.

Or...maybe that's the point. He knew Dick wouldn't find it for a while; maybe that was purposeful. Maybe it's a way of bringing Dick's attention back around to him, another long-distance way for Slade to remind the boy of what he has to offer.

If that was the point, it's certainly effective.

"Bastard," Dick mutters, and then tucks the new items into the pocket of his hoodie, trying to put them out of his mind for a little while and get back to his task.

Another month passes, life going normally. Zatanna and Artemis return from a trip with buckets of supplies and grim facesapparently they came across a group of people, all dead.

Taking from corpses is never pleasant, but always necessary.

Conner and M'gann find a set of walkie-talkies in an abandoned police vehicle. All of them grin, overjoyed; these items will make communicating on trips and missions so much easier.

And they really do. It also makes it easier to just go out for short periods simply if they needed a break, because they can be called back quickly if they're needed.

It's because of the walkie-talkies that they learn what happens to Kaldur and Wally.

The pair went out and, a few hours later, send a panicked message over the walkie.

 _"-Under attack, need help-!"_ comes Wally's panicked voice.

"Where are you?" Artemis demands, diving for the device. "Tell us your location!"

In the background, Conner and Dick are racing to get their bikes started to they can leave immediately.

 _"Past the bridge, down the dirt road,"_ Kaldur tells them. He's panting. There's gunfire in the background, and a scream.  _"We are too far,"_ he adds, something they all know; the bridge is at least an hour and a half away from the Cave. There's no way any of them will get there in time to help.

That doesn't stop them, of course.

"We're on our way," Artemis says firmly, throwing her leg over her bike; Zatanna slides on behind her. "Fucking  _run,_ okay? We're coming!"

 _"-Fuck-!"_ Wally cries out, and distantly you can hear Kaldur shout, and then static.

None of them say anything as they drive. They all feel panicked, are all scared out of their minds. They've all lost far too many people, and the idea of losing two of their friendstheir _family_ is a horrifying thought.

Dick knows they're all running the possible outcomes in their minds. Depending on what group attacked Kaldur and Wally, their status will be very different. Some groups kidnap for forced labor or human trafficking. Some groups kill for fun and steal people's shit. Some still believe in the ideals of the govs and try to fight the  _Good Fight,_ and will thus treat Kaldur and Wally as rebels to be taken down.

Out of every possible outcome, that third one is the worst to think about. Govs mean pain and imprisonment and probable death. Govs mean it's practically impossible to get them back.

It's obvious when they reach the place it all happened. There are bike and tire tracks, a few bullet casings, and evenpushed off to the side of the roada dead woman.

The uniform she wears is unmistakable.

"Govs," Conner murmurs.

"No!" Artemis shouts, purely denial. Her eyes are wide and wet beneath her green mask. "No, she must've justjust stolen some clothes, right? This wasn'tthey weren'tthey can't be gone!"

Dick hates that the world is so calm when he feels like his is crumbling. Kaldur and Wallythey're his family. He's known Wally since he was ten, the redhead only two years older; such an amazing human being. And Kaldur has never been anything except an exemplary leader and brother, always taking care of them and being  _there_ for them.

They can't just...be gone. They can't be out there being treated as  _criminals,_ as  _rebels_ simply because they don't support the fucking "Great Cause", just because they don't wear the colors of an oppressive government that doesn't even  _stand_ anymore. It's fucking ridiculous that they don't stand a chance.

Because they truly don't. The five of them against an extremely well-organized, well-armed militia? Five of them against all of that,  _and_ breaking into what used to be a government base? They'll all end up in cells if they even try. They simply don't have the man power.

But...

Dick turns on his heels, heading back for his bike. He hears M'gann call his name, and then Zatanna ask where he's going. He can feel Artemis' eyes on him and Conner's confused glare. He doesn't stop, though. He gets on his bike and he drives, leaving them all behind.

This drive is going to take him at least seven hours, so he needs to get going. His knuckles are white against the handlebars and he hears a faint ringing in his ears. He doesn't even know if this'll work. He doesn't know what it'll cost him if it does.

With jerky movements, he pulls out the iPod. He's scared and angry and even grieving a little bit; the music, when he jams the earbuds in, helps to calm him, or at least helps to drown out his racing mind.

About three hours into his ride, he hears his walkie-talkie crackle to life, M'gann's worried voice coming through. He switches it off immediately; he doesn't want to hear whatever it is she has to say.

When he arrives, the guards atop the gates immediately call for him to be let in, just like every time before. He drives quickly to the doors of the main compound and comes to a sharp stop, hopping off his bike.

One of the guards at the doorone Dick recognizes at _Samuel,_ one of Slade's higher-ranking menfrowns at him and walks forward.

"Hey, Rob. We weren't expecting you," he says. His tone isn't unfriendly or hostile. Just surprised. Confused. Maybe even a little  _worried._

"I know," Dick replies curtly. He removes the escrima sticks from his back and offers them and the keys to Samuelhe wants to speed this along. He needs to get inside as soon as possible.

Samuel's eyebrows shoot up and he accepts the items, passing them off to another guard. He pats Dick down quickly, definitely sensing the boy's urgency, and then straightens. "Okay, follow me."

The man leads Dick to Slade's study; Dick's only been there once or twice, most of their meetings being confined to that one room, so usually this would be Dick's occasion to explore, but not now. Now, all Dick can focus on is the screams of his friends over the walkie-talkie and the pounding in his heart.

Samuel knocks when they get there, and Slade's familiar timber calls for them to enter. The man glances up from his desk when they do, and pleased surprise flits briefly across his face before he sees something in Dick's expression, his own shuttering in response.

"Leave us," he commands, getting to his feet, and Samuel doesn't hesitate to do so, shutting the door behind himself. Slade begins moving around the desk. "Dick-"

"I need your help," Dick blurts out, unable to stop himself. Times for  _playing the game_ have passed; now, he needs to save his friends.

Slade pauses at the shaking of the boy's voice, the same tremble in his hands. He's never seen Dick like this. "Alright," he says carefully, "what happened?"

"Govs took Kaldur and Wally," Dick tells him. His voice is still shaking and his words are rushed. He feels his breaths quickening. Panic is going to take over soon, he knows it. "They werewe were only a few hours away, but they got 'em. I can't leave them there, Slade. I-I  _can't._ And we can't do it by ourselves, we don't have the firepower or the manpower. I need your _help."_

"What do you want me to do, Dick?" Slade asks him gently. "Gov compounds are old military bases and heavily fortified; my men and I work very hard to  _avoid_ those hot spots, not purposefully attack them. I don't want to put my people at risk for a couple kids."

"I'll do anything," Dick says desperately, and he means it. He came here knowing what he was asking, knowing that it would likely cost Slade's people their lives. He came here knowing that he will have to pay a large price himself.

Dick rips off his mask and strides forward. His desperation, his fear, and angerhe's sure it's all crystal clear. "I'll do anything," he says again, pleading. "Anything you want, Slade, _please,_ anything-" He reaches up, pressing at Slade's chest and then cupping his neck and then cheeks. His hands are still shaking; he can't keep them still.

"Dick-" Slade starts softly. He lifts his hands and grabs Dick's own, but doesn't try to remove them yet. The look in his eyes is kinder than Dick's ever seen from this man.

"I mean it," Dick pleads. "I-"

"I know you do," Slade interrupts. "I know, little bird, but-"

"I'll stay!" Dick exclaims, and his eyes go wide. He's taken himself by surprise. And, going by the way Slade freezes, his lips parting, he's been surprised, too.

Even more surprising, though, is that Dick finds he actually means it. If at the end of the day it saves Kaldur and Wallyand even all the other prisoners in the gov compoundthen why the hell would he do anything except promise anything?

"I'll stay," he repeats, more firmly. He tries to sound calmer. "Here, with you. If youif you help me save my friends and get them back alive, then I will  _stay here,_ for as long as you want me. That's what this is always about, right? Well, I'm here and I'm not going anywhere,  _if_ you save Wally and Kaldur from the govs."

Slade stares at him for a long moment, examining him. Dick wonders if this will be enough, if Slade wants him badly enough to sacrifice the lives of his men, possibly many of them. After almost two years of this shitshow, Dick really fucking hopes so.

"...Okay," Slade says eventually, and Dick's breath catches.

"Really?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," Slade says, nodding. He releases his grip on Dick's wrists and strokes a hand through the boy's hair. "You stay at the compound, work for me, don't attempt to undermine my operations, stay at my side, keep me companyif you agree to be loyal, then  _yes,_ I'll stage an assault on the gov base. I'll get Wally and Kaldur out safely and back to the Cave."

"Thank you," Dick breathes, eyes wide. "Slade,  _thank_ you-"

"But Dick," Slade interrupts, "I need you to look me in the eye and swear to keep up your end of the bargain. Because it would be ever-so-easy for you to just run with your friends and find a new home far away from here, once the two boys are free."

"You know me, Slade," Dick says. "Better than just about anyone, actually. When I make a promise, I keep it; I'm true to my word, you know that. I _swear_ to you that if you get Wally and Kaldur to safety, I will stay with you. I understand the gravity of this; you're agreeing to save the lives of my friends, likely at cost to your people. I won't back down from something this important, I swear it."

Once more, Slade stares at him for a while, watching him carefully, looking for any sign of a lie. But he  _does_ know Dick very well, somehow better than his best friends, and he knows Dick would _never_ break his word, let alone for something this big.

"Then okay," Slade says, dipping his chin. "I'll talk to my men; we'll make a plan. Wally and Kaldur will be safe, Dick. We'll save them."

Tears prick Dick's eyes, the air going out of his lungs in a rush. This is...he hadn't been sure whether or not Slade would agree. This is incredible. And though he's anxious and even a little afraid about what he's giving up, he knows it's worth it. It's the same kind of deal he's been making with Slade from the beginning, simply bigger. He'll always sacrifice himself to save the people he cares about.

"Thank you," Dick whispers. His eyes slide shut and he presses his forehead against Slade's chest.  _"Christ,_ Slade, thank you."

Slade wraps his arms around Dick, pulling him into a tight hug and stroking his hair. It's...comforting, actually. Dick's always been a tactile person, and physical contact has always been so important to him. Slade right now isn't pressing for anything, he's just  _holding_ Dick, and fuck if Dick hasn't missed this, missed an authority figure just  _comforting_ him.

He hates how perverted this all is. He hates that he's now bound to Slade, that  _Slade_ is the man he's seeking comfort from. It makes Dick seriously fucking miss Bruce.

"It's alright," Slade murmurs softly. "I've got you, little bird. Everything's going to be alright. We'll get your friends out safely." He presses a kiss to the crown of Dick's head and then starts to pull away. "Go up to the room, little bird; I have planning to do."

Dick nods numbly and steps back. "Right, of course. I'll see you later?"

Slade nods back. "Take a shower, eat something, try to get some rest; I'll come get you when things are more set in stone, alright?"

"Alright," Dick says. He bends down to scoop up his mask. "Thank you," he says again, because he doesn't think he can say it enough, and then heads out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 of 3 will be posted sometime tomorrow!!
> 
> Ok, technically, posted sometime _today_ because it is currently 1am and I need to go to sleep before I end up staying up all night editing Chapter 2.
> 
> Ack, whatever, Chapter 2 will be here soon!!
> 
> (Hope you guys enjoyed :))


	2. Chapter 2

Dick does shower, and he does eat something, but there's no way he's getting any sleep.

He doesn't stay in the room, either. He can't bring himself to sit still, to stay put and wait for news. Instead, after half an hour, he heads to the compound's training room.

As opposed to the one at the Cave, Slade's community is actually very well outfitted. Actual equipment is spread through the room, and though it's better lit than the place beneath the manor, it strongly reminds him of his time with Bruce.

People glance at him when he enters, confused, but most of them recognize him and don't try to stop him. He heads for the pair of treadmills and can't even muster the usual wonder he'd feel at the fact that Slade has enough electricity to power random machines like this.

One of the treadmills is taken but the other's free, so he gets on and puts in some earbuds. He picks some random rock music, something loud enough to combat his racing thoughts, and just starts running. It's not quite the same feeling as racing across rooftops, but he likes the feeling of his feet flying beneath him all the same.

After about fifteen minutes on the machine, Wintergreen steps into his view, smiling kindly. Dick immediately slows the treadmill down and jumps off.

"Does he have a plan?" Dick asks before Wintergreen can say anything. "Should I-?"

"Here," Wintergreen interrupts, and extends his hands.

Dick blinks down at what he's holding; it's his escrima sticks and the keys to his motorcycle. Why give these back? Dick lifts his gaze questioningly.

"You're not an outsider anymore," Wintergreen tells him gently. The words hit Dick hard all the same. "You're allowed to carry weapons. And I thought with the amount of anxiety you're currently feeling, that _sparring_ might be helpful."

He nods towards the mats, where some of Slade's men are fighting and sparring. Dick can't deny that beating some people up right now sounds like an  _excellent_ way to spend some energy.

"Thank you," Dick says quietly, accepting the weapons. He hesitates, and then adds, "If there's any-"

"I'll update you," Wintergreen tells him, already knowing where his mind was going. "Slade and his inner circle are meeting right now to work out a plan; as soon as there's something definitive, I'll come and get you. But for now, I have to get back."

Dick nods. This man reminds him so much of Alfred it's almost painful. How he ended up loyal to Slade is anyone's guess. "Thank you," he says again. "I appreciate it."

Wintergreen inclines his head and then leaves. After a moment's pause, Dick tucks the escrima sticks into the holder on his back then heads over to the mats.

The men there stop when they notice him approach, and one raises an enquiring eyebrow. Dick lets them size him up for a moment and then smirks, raising an eyebrow of his own. "Feel like a friendly match?"

One of them snorts and glances at the others. "Look, kid, we don't feel like training someone right now-"

"Good, because I'm not interested in your  _training,"_ Dick interrupts smoothly. "Look, either you kick my ass and teach me a lesson about picking fights with highly-skilled grown men, _or_ we actually have a good fight. Why not humor me?"

The three men glance at each other and then one shrugs a shoulder, sighing. "Sure, why not."

One of them shoots him a look. "If we hurt him, Wilson'll kill us."

"If you hurt me, then Wilson'll tell me I'm slipping," Dick shoots back with a grin.

The third man smirks back. "Oh, I like him. C'mon, Danny, chill out. If you knock him on his ass then he'll back off and we can go back to what we were doing."

 _"If,"_ the second man mutters indignantly.  _"If_ I knock him on his ass." He shakes his head and then rolls his eyes. "Alright, fine, kid. C'mere."

Dick grins and steps onto the mats, settling into a ready stance. The three men all share a look one last time before doing the same. Dick can feel most of the people in the gym watching them, probably finding it funny that this sixteen-year-old that Slade favors is about to get beat up by three of their men.

They're all so very,  _very_ wrong.

He hasn't had a good fight in a while, and it's exhilarating. Most of the people he comes across that are hostile are nowhere  _near_ as skilled as the men Slade employs, all ex-military or ex-something violent. They put up a hell of a fight, that's for sure. But Dick was trained by the Batman, one of the three heads of the rebellion, and there's no way just three of them are going to beat him.

When he's standing over the three of them, one unconscious and the other two groaning, he glances around. Everyone's staring at him incredulously, and it makes Dick extremely pleased; if he's going to be a permanent resident, they're all going to have to know that's he's  _very good_ at what he does. He wants to bypass the condescending attitude as soon as possible.

"That was fun," Dick chirps, smiling down at his opponents. "Let me know if you want to do it again sometime; I'd be happy to  _train_ you."

He hears some snickers throughout the room, a couple grins thrown his way, and for just a little while he's forgotten about the weight on his shoulders, about the horrors that are waiting for him.

If Slade succeeds, then Wally and Kaldur are safe but Dick's life is no longer his own. If Slade fails, then Dick is free but his friends are dead.

Dick's smile slowly fades, and it's right then that Wintergreen appears again, expression set.

"Take me," Dicks says immediately, and the soldier does.

* * *

Half an hour later has Dick and Slade arguing and screaming about the fact that Slade wants Dick to stay at the compound, and Dick wants to go on the attack.

Slade, in the end, wins. It's not surprising, but still annoying. He wants him to stay safe, wants to make sure he's still alive at the end of this, considering the whole reason it's happening is all  _about_ him being there at the end. Dick understands, truly. But he hates the idea of just waiting at the compound for news, waiting for the men to return with or without his friends.

Nonetheless, it's what he does.

Slade and the men going with him leave at dawn the next morning. In goodbye, Slade offers him a grin and a wink and says, "See you soon, kid," before getting into the driver's seat of one of the large jeeps they own. All of his top mensuch as Wintergreen and Samuelare going with him, as well as a practical army (and yet still not even all of his men).

Dick spends the time they're gone in the training room. Like before, he can't calm enough to get some sleep, so instead he spars and fights and trains. None of the men still at the compound look down on him, not after his little display before, and Dick figures that at least he can get along with them all, since he's probably going to be living here.

_Fuck, please let Slade be successful._

The closest gov complex is about five hours away from Slade's compound, and Dick can feel his anxiety go up when it hits that mark; he knows that out there a fight is taking place, a fight for the lives of his friends, a fight he's not allowed to take part in. He understands why not, but he really doesn't like it. He's never been good at sitting on his ass; Bruce taught him to be a doer.

"You're not what I expected," one of the men says after they've finished for the time, panting and drinking water. Dick thinks his name is John or something like that.

"Oh?" Dick asks, amusement turning his lips. "What did you expect, then?"

"Johnny," another one of them _Andrew,_ Dick thinkssays quietly, shaking his head.

The small warning makes Dick's smile grow. "Trust me, I've heard just about every insult you can think oftell me, I won't get offended."

This time, John hesitates, now worried about insulting the person who their leader likes, but then he relaxes and goes for it. "All we knew about you the first time you came here is that you were a fifteen-year-old friend of Joseph's that Wilson was a fan of, for some reason. You were small and young and disappeared behind a closed door with him for a while." He shrugs a shoulder, smiling wryly. "We didn't think much of you; thought you were an easily manipulated kid who was too stupid to not get used."

Dick considers the words. "And now?"

John barks out a laugh. "Now I've fought you and talked to youWilson's damn good at what he does, but I'd be hard pressed to believe that you don't fully understand what situation you're in. This might be a damn tough situation, and he's definitely wearing you down, but now I know better than to believe you're just some meek little bird."

 _Little bird. Ha._ Dick wonders if that's just a funny coincidence or if Slade's actually called him  _little bird_ in front of his men. He said it when Roy was there, after all. Maybe all of his men have been picturing Dick as this quiet thing caught in Slade's claws.

And frankly, Dick hates that that's not too far off from the truth. He might not be quiet or tame, but he's certainly caught.

But he can't show any weakness like that, certainly not to men who report to the man responsible for it all. So instead, he laughs. "Well I hope me kicking your ass has dispelled any notions of me being  _meek."_

The men around him chuckle and laugh, and Dick feels a small amount of tension dissipate; they'd been worried he'd get upset, and then they'd be in trouble with Slade. But Dick has no interest in being that kind of person. They might be loyal to Slade, but Dick wants them to like him. It'll make his life here so much easier.

He hates that he's so resigned to the fact that he's going to be stuck here. But it also means that Wally and Kaldur will be safe. He can make that sacrifice any day.

"It definitely has," John agrees, chuckling, and then pushes himself to his feet with a groan. "C'mon, I want you to show me that weird little move you did at the end."

"You mean the one that ended with you down for the count?" another guy snickers, and ducks when John swats at his head.

"I don't see you doing much better," John shoots back. "The kid is fucking  _wicked."_

Dick can't help but grin. He has to admit to having missed this kind of thing; growing up with Bruce meant that Dick went to a lot of facilities like this, filled with men and women training and going on missions and joking together. There's a certain feeling to places like this, and though it's not really wartime anymore, this training room still carries it. Dick very much enjoys it.

"You're on," he says, and pops to his feet for another round.

* * *

As the hours tick away, Dick's anxiety grows.

He keeps having to remind himself that there's literally  _nothing_ he can do, and has to wait. He keeps having to force himself away from running for the gates, for his bike, and taking off in the direction they headed; it would be pointless. Utterly useless.

He fucking  _hates_ being useless.

He wanders aimlessly through the market for a little while, curious to see what's there, but his eyes slide from one thing to another, unable to focus. He checks out the gardens, too, and then explores the entirety of the compound for lack of anything else. It's useful, at least, because now he can really find his way around the place, not needing a guide.

When they've been gone for ten hours, Dick's anxiety amps up. Eleven, and he's feeling nauseous. Twelve, and-

"They're back!" someone atop the gates shouts down.

Dick's moving before he's even fully aware of it, feet flying beneath him as he races for the front. The gates open and the jeeps start rolling in, heading for the large area in front of the main compound. Dick jumps aside to let them through but runs along beside, silently urging them to go _faster._

What happens next is a flurry of activity.

It seems that they've liberated quite a few people from the govs, and a good amount of them need medical attention. There's a lot of shouting and running about as people rush to get the prisoners and injured soldiers of Slade's inside and taken care of. Dick gets glimpses of various men he recognizes but on none of the cots does he see a vibrant head of red hair or dark, tattooed arms.

"Robin," a familiar rasp calls, and Dick whirls around, coming face to face with Slade. He opens his mouth with a million questions but Slade speaks first. "Follow me."

And Dick does, no hesitation.

The compound has an infirmary, and all the injured people are being rushed in there, spilling out into the surrounding hallways. Slade leads him through them all, and the people instinctively move around their leader.

And then, there at the center of the room, are two very familiar figures.

"Christ," Dick breathes, and starts to run, skidding to a halt between Wally and Kaldur. They're a little worse for wearWally a bit more sowith some injuries that need attention, but nowhere _near_ as bad as it could be. Wally's unconscious, but Kaldur's eyes flutter open at his presence.

"Robin?" his friend croaks, squinting up at him. He looks pretty out of it.

"Hi," Dick says with a wide grin. "Hey, man, good to see you."

"Did you..." Kaldur blinks heavily. "Did you save us?"

Dick's grin strains slightly. "Well, I couldn't let you get all the attention, now, could I? Had to one-up you."

Kaldur breathes out a little laugh and then lets his eyes slide shut. "Is Wally okay?"

"He's just fine, K. Both of you are gonna be fine, and home before you know it." He squeezes Kaldur's arm for a second. "Get some rest; you need it."

"Alright," Kaldur agrees easily, already slipping away, and then stills as he falls unconscious.

Dick takes a moment to close his eyes and breathe; his friends are okay. They're going to be perfectly alright. They'll go home, and that'll be that. _They're safe._

"Thank you," Dick whispers, feeling Slade step up beside him. "Thank you so much."

"Anything, little bird," Slade murmurs in reply. "I'm glad your friends are alright."

Dick straightens and opens his eyes, grinning tiredly at the elder man. "And I see you picked up a few strays along the way."

Slade snorts and looks over the packed infirmary, filled with strangers and his own injured men. "We started just fucking opening doors as we made our way through their base; a lot of the prisoners could still walk, and they picked up some guns and fought alongside us; it gave me the idea to just take everyone there. Maybe they'll choose to stay and work for me, or if they choose to go then there'll be a bunch of people in my debt."

The man winks in response to Dick's incredulous laugh.

"Only you could turn a rescue mission to your benefit."

"It is one of my charms," Slade agrees, smirking. His eyes slide over to Wally and Kaldur. "What do you want me to do with them?" he asks.

Dick's brow furrows. "Do with them?" he echoes.

Slade nods. "I mean do you want to wait until they're 100% better and then send them back, do you want to simply wait until they're both wholly conscious so you can tell them what's happening, or do you want me to put them in a car with medical supplies and have someone drive them back to the Cave?"

In a single instant, Dick's joy plummets as he remembers what comes next. Slade saved Wally and Kaldur, which means Dick will need to keep up his end of the bargain and stay. He's ready to do it, but it's still an impossibly hard thing.

"Send them now," Dick says quietly. He doesn't want to have to explain to them what's going on, doesn't want to give them a chance to plead with himit'll make everything so much harder. And if they leave this place unconscious, it also means they won't be able to return to try and convince himnone of his friends know where Slade's compound is. Just Dick.

"Are you sure?" Slade asks, but the tone of his voice tells Dick that the man agrees with this course of action.

"Yes." He rubs a hand across his eyes. "Thank you again, Slade. How many of your men died?"

"Eighteen dead, sixteen more severely injured," Slade tells him, and then raises an eyebrow, slightly mocking. "Do you want to know their names?"

Dick scowls at him, because  _yes,_ actually, he does. He wants to know the names of the people who died for Wally and Kaldur.

"I'll get you a list later," Slade says dryly, knowing Dick's answer even without the boy saying anything. Dick shouldn't be surprised anymore; Slade always knows him better than anyone. The man's simply too observant and smart and obsessive to do anything else.

"How's-" Dick begins.

"Wintergreen is fine," Slade interrupts, and Dick certainly doesn't miss the smug look that passes quickly across the man's face, showing off once more how he can practically read Dick's mind. Dick  _hates_ it. "So are, actually, all of my top people. Quite fortunate, that."

Dick hums his agreement, but he doesn't much care about the rest of them. It's odd, certainly, that the seven men and women Slade holds above the rest all came out okay. Though...not really, Dick supposes. Slade holds them above the rest  _because_ they're good enough to get out alive. He doesn't suffer fools easily, and would probably think  _good riddance_ if one of them fell.

The next thought that runs through Dick's head is  _Am I that expendable?_ And then _Would that be such a bad thing?_

"Now, Robin, you have three options," Slade murmurs.

Dick startles and brings his wandering gaze back to the man. "Options?" he echoes.

Slade nods. He's watching him carefully, Dick notes. "Yes. Three of them, in fact." A flash of amusement passes through his gaze before it goes back to blank.

"Can you tell me on what subject?" Dick asks tightly. He doesn't appreciate what Slade's doing. There's some point to it, Dick knows, but he doesn't have the energy at the moment to work out Slade's most recent psychological game.

"Where you're going to be staying-" Dick stills, "-since you live here now." Thankfully, he doesn't sound smug, simply calm. "Option Oneyou share my bedroom with me. Option Twoyou take the one we've been using as yours. And then Option Threeyou can pick an empty room and that'll be your space. It's completely up to you."

Dick licks his lips nervously and looks away. He has to admit, he wasn't expecting this. He'd thought...well, he'd  _assumed..._

"Completely up to me?" Dick parrots hesitantly. He still doesn't look up.

There's a moment of silence, and then Slade's hand settles on Dick's upper-arm, gently pulling. "Come with me," he says, and Dick can do nothing but agree.

The man leads him out of the loud and bustling infirmary, up a floor, down a hallway, and then into Slade's personal study, the one where just fourteen hours ago Dick had begged for Slade's help.

Slade shuts the door behind them. Dick shoves his hands in his pockets to hide the fidgeting and fights against the urge to hunch his shoulders. Slade comes around to stand in front of him, leaving back against his desk. Dick keeps his eyes fixed on the floor, just by the man's feet.

Silence falls. Slade lets out a soft sigh.

"A long while ago, I told you that I just want you here, and that if you stayed, it would be on your terms."

"But it's not on my terms," Dick murmurs, his hands balled into tight fists in his pockets. "Well, I mean, it's terms we agreed on, but-"

"Dick." Slade doesn't raise his voice, doesn't snap, doesn't sound anything less than perfectly calm. He doesn't need toit quiets Dick all the same.

Another moment of silence, then-

"You're staying because of a deal we made, yes. But when stating our  _terms,_ I don't believe either one of us said anything about sex. All sorts of possible implications, sure, but you living here does not mean I am going to move you into my bedroom. For your friends' lives, you gave up your freedom. That doesn't necessarily mean your body.

"I can't promise I won't _press,_ but you are allowed your own space. You agreed to permanently live here, Dick, and to work for me. I respect that sacrifice. You and I have been making deals for almost two year nowI see a proportional response here. Maybe we'll have more deals in the future. In fact, I find it likely.  _Then_ we can address all that. But for now, I mean what I said. Your choice. Sowhat do you choose?"

Option One is certainly a no. Between Options Two and Threewell, the room they've been using isn't bad. Nice view of the gardens, close to the elevator, plus all those records and even a fucking TV...

But there's a lot of connotations that room holds for him. That room is where Dick has had to sacrifice pieces of himself time and time again; he isn't sure he can spend all of his time there. Actually sleeping in that bed, night after night? No, no he doesn't think he can.

"A new room, if that's something I can do," Dick says softly.  _God, this is really his life._

"Of course," Slade agrees immediately. "I think there are four rooms available; you can have your pick of them. Let me know if you want anything for your room, because I'm pretty sure they're almost completely bare." He then dryly adds, "Asking for these things would  _not,_ by the way, be considered another deal, needing of an exchange. We're living by new rules now, Dick. If you need or want something,  _ask._ It's yours, no questions."

Just like all the times before, Dick has to caution himself against getting comfortable.  _This isn't a man to get comfortable around._ This is a man who will use any bit of complacency in you to reach his own gains. Slade wants Dick,  _all_ of him. Dick might not technically be a prisoner but Stockholm Syndrome is still a thing that's going to hit him, and it's going to hit _hard._

Dick doesn't want to start to really like Slade. Slade's already set most of the groundwork over the last almost-two years. Dick can't just let it happen. He's sacrificed enough of himself to this manhe doesn't want to lose his opinions, too.

"Thank you," Dick says, because he needs to, because this could be so much worse, because even in Slade's rotten heart is a bit of softness.

 _No,_ Dick tells himself firmly,  _no there isn't. Don't buy into that, not for one second._

"Anytime, little bird," Slade replies. "For tonight, however, are you alright staying in the room we've been using? A lot's going on and I think searching for a place for you and actually getting shit in it is a tomorrow kind of job."

Dick nods his agreement; one night doesn't matter. He doesn't care enough.

"Look at me, Dick," Slade says. Dick doesn't. Slade sighs. _"Dick._ Look at me."

Dick takes a slow breath in and out, and then raises his gaze. He's a very good actorraised by the bestbut he wonders if he's too tired to hide right now. He wonders what Slade sees in his expression. He wonders how young he looks, how afraid, how angry, how  _lost._

Four years ago, his entire life turned on its axis. The world exploded, Gotham fell, and his father was buried in the rubble, presumed dead. And now, Dick feels like he's once again being forced into a dangerous new world. He's afraid of what being solely in Slade's care means for him. He's angry that's he's in this situation in the first place. And  _god_ he feels so fucking lost.

He misses Bruce and Alfred more than he could possibly describe. And what he hates to acknowledge is that if either of them were still with him, he  _never_ would've gotten wrapped up in all of Slade's shit.

"Oh, little bird," Slade sighs. "You don't have to be scared here. I take care of my people, and you're one of them."

Dick can't help ita laugh bursts out of him. Slade's eyebrows go up in surprise; it's hard to catch the man off guard, and Dick's momentarily pleased about it.

"What?" Slade asks, bewildered. "Are you-?"

"For the first time in almost two years," Dick interrupts, still chuckling a little, "is it alright if we have a purely honest discussion? No double-speak, no inching around the issues? We haven't done that since the first day, and since we're  _living by different rules_ now, how about just this once we speak freely? Tomorrow we can go back to implications and hidden agendas."

Slade stares at him for a little, surprise still clouding his features. But then amusement takes over, his eye sparking and his lips tilting upwards, and he inclines his head. "Oh, by all means."

For a moment, Dick doesn't know what to say. There's...so much. Twenty-two months of this arrangement and Dick has a  _lot_ of thoughts on the subject.  _Many_ of them, and not a single one is actually nice. But this isn't a conversation for just insulting or baring his soul; he needs to actually make a  _point._

He takes a slow breath in and out, holding it for counts just like Bruce taught him. When he's centered, he speaks.

"Don't tell me I have nothing to fear, Slade. I might not have to worry about your people attacking me but that in  _no way_ means I'm out of danger. You've never claimed to be anything other than what you are, but you  _do_ enjoy twisting those things to sound ever so appealing. You like finding weaknesses and pressure points and turning them to your advantage to get what you want, and you do this without reservation or even  _conscious thought._ It is as natural as  _breathing_ for you.

"That's something I accepted long ago, andas I'm sure you've taken notice of a thousand timesit's something I work hard to guard myself against. It is a constant battle when in your company and  _now_ I live with you, work for you; do you understand how much harder it will be given that I'll have to do it 24/7? I'm sure that brings you pleasure, because in the long run that means  _you_ get what you want, with me at your side, _happy_ to be here.

"But it's insulting for you to say I don't have to be  _scared,_ or that you'll take  _care of me;_ I don't want this life, and you know thatit's why  _you_ work so goddamn hard to get under my skin. You  _taking care of me_ now that I'm here simply means you wearing me down faster and faster than you could when I still had somewhere to escape to. You might not give a shit, but I actually  _like_ me, and am not particularly fond of the idea of being your little lapdog.

"And really, _yay you,_ you're successfully manipulating a teenager into enjoying your company. But that'swhatever, besides the point. Anyway, I'm just saying that this isn't some ride into the sunset kind of deal, Slade. This is  _conditioning,_ pure and simple."

"You're right," Slade agrees. The ease with which he says it catches Dick off guard, and Slade smirks briefly, as if to say  _You asked for pure honesty._

"I do acknowledge how stressful this is for you, Dick. I actually sympathize with your situation. The important difference though is that I don't care overly much. In fact, breaking you down is quite exciting."

Dick knew that, he did. But hearing it still feels like a punch to the gut.

"You are one of the strongest, most skilled individuals I've ever met," Slade tells him. "I wanted you to possess you from the moment I caught you sneaking off from your stupid father's party to go throw  _knives._ That wasn't going to change simply because you choose to resist."

"Possess me," Dick sneers. "I'm not an  _object."_

"That doesn't mean I don't own you," Slade dismisses, and Dick hates that's he's not wrong. "I'm not blind to the fact that the  _consent_ of our arrangement is shaky at best, exactly as it has been since the beginning. And I will admit that I'm probably not nearly as bothered by that as I should be."

Dick snorts. "Yeah, neither of us are blind to  _that._ I remember how you got hard when I was afraid at the start. Fifteen years old and shaking as a man three times my age takes my virginity."

"You say that with such venom," Slade replies, amused, "as if that will make me feel ashamed. It  _doesn't,_ little bird. I know exactly the kind of man I am. Sure, I'd certainly like for you to slip into my bed 100% of your own free will, but I'm just as happy licking the tears from your cheeks."

Dick fights against the urge to vomit. It's one thing to think these things about Slade in his own head; it's a whole 'nother thing to hear the man actually _admit_ to these truths, and admit to them with such unconcern.

"Believe me or not, I actually  _like_ you, Dick," Slade says, and Dick hates that he sounds fucking  _sincere._ "It's why I've wasted so many resources for your company, why I sentenced my loyal men to die for you to stay. I find you fascinating, and better company than the entirety of this compound combined. I _care_ about you, little bird."

"Just not enough to care about what I want," Dick says bitterly. "Not enough to stop doing all this  _shit_ to me. Not enough to leave me the hell alone."

Slade smiles at him, small and condescending. "No, I suppose not that much." He laughs softly, under his breath. "The first time you came here, do you remember what you said to me?"

"I called you a manipulative, sociopathic asshole," Dick says bluntly. "And then I told you Joey would be better off without you."

"You did," Slade agrees, dipping his chin. He still looks amused. "You also said that you would do whatever it took to protect your family. You laid all your cards out on the table that first meeting, and it was what sealed your fate."

"Oh, please," Dick says with a roll of his eyes, "you had me pegged before I even walked through the door. From whatever Joey told you, your own research, and the couple meetings before everything fell apartyou brought me here knowing the way to get to me. Me telling you what you already knew didn't seal my fate; your insane obsession did."

Slade hums, considering his words. Then he says, "I think I prefer  _sociopathic_ over _insane."_

"Christ," Dick mutters incredulously, shaking his head. "You're justfuck. You really don't care, do you? There isn't a single part of you that gives a shit about the fact that I don't want _any_ of thislet  _alone_ you fucking me!and yet you still keep pressing like I do?"

Quite suddenly, Slade pushes himself off the desk, striding forward a few steps and taking Dick's face in his hands. Dick jerks back but Slade follows, pushing him against the wall and grabbing his face firmly, forcing him to meet his eyes.

His gaze is burning with intensity.

"I will protect you against everyone else," Slade growls. "I will clothe you and feed you and bathe you and offer you everything the world  _has._ I will give you power and stillness and _life,_ Dick. That's what  _I_ do, and I will do it more fiercely than you can even imagine. But  _no,_ little bird, I will _not_ protect you from myself more than I already am. This could be  _so much worse,_ Dick, I really hope you understand that. I hope you understand that twenty-two months ago I could've locked you in a room and drugged you out of your mind until you craved me."

Dick feels a shudder travel up his spine.

"This is a horrible situation for you, I know that. But don't try to appeal to my  _humanity,_ Dick, because this _is_ my humanity. This is the best you are going to get from me. Don't forget that, little bird. Don't expect more. I don't want to truly hurt you, but I do  _want_ you. And if that means breaking you down bit by bit, then I am perfectly fine with it."

And then he crashes his lips to Dick's, pinning the boy against the wall with his much larger body.

Dick pushes for a moment, pounding at Slade's chest with his fist, writhing for a way to escape. He falls still when he feels Slade's growing erection, and then he simply waits.

When Slade breaks away, panting, he says, "This is the last time I do that without permission."

"I-" Dick blinks. The sudden turn of comment is jarring. "Sorry,  _what?"_

Slade pulls back, releasing him, and goes to sit behind his desk. "I told you before," he says smoothly, "I respect the sacrifice you're making by staying here; I respect _you._ Sex was not part of our deal, and it won't be forced on you. None of what I just said negates that fact. Maybe we'll have more deals in the future, and that will come back into play. Or maybe you'll initiate. I do not know. But I _do_ know that I will be sticking to the rules of our agreement. Physical intimacy wasn't in it."

Dick's legs feel weak. The amount of cognitive dissonance Slade is exhibiting is  _insane._

After a moment, Slade sighs quietly. "You need  _sleep,_ Dick," he says. "I doubt you rested for a single moment while we were gone. Why don't you-"

"How can you do that?" Dick breathes.

Slade blinks at him. "Do what?"

"Sound like youlike the fact that I haven't slept actually  _matters_ to you!" Dick exclaims, laughing incredulously. "You do that sometimes, and I justit makes no sense to me. How can you tell me about how much fun you have breaking me down and then act concerned for my welfare? I just don't understand it. II really can't-"

"Because I  _am_ concerned for your welfare," Slade tells him evenly. "Because you've been awake for more than twenty-four hours now, and you are a sixteen-year-old boy whose health and mental faculties will be harmed by this lack of self-care. I told youI care about you. It might not be in the way you want, but that doesn't change the fact.

"So-" He folds his hands on top of the desk. "Will you go lie down and attempt to sleep? Or do you need a light sedative? Either way, you  _will_ be getting some rest."

Dick hates that he's tempted to ask for the sedative. He wants all of this to just... _stop_ for a little while. Slade is actually insane, thinking this qualifies as  _caring._

"Am I dismissed?" he asks tiredly. Slade nods. "Then I'll be in the room."

"Someone will check on you in two hours," Slade tells him. "If you're not asleep, a sedative will be administered."

Dick knows he's not bluffing. He turns silently for the door and slips out, walking the familiar path to the room that he's spent so much time in.

He tosses and turns for a while but eventually drifts off to sleep, his dreams filled with pain and fear, much like his life.

* * *

Someoneand Dick doesn't know whograbbed all his belongings from the Cave.

They're outside the room when he opens the door the next morning; his clothes, his books, all his random items he's accumulated, and even his pillow. It's all there.

For a little bit, Dick can do nothing but stare at it all. Getting all of this would've required not just  _entering_ the Cave, but identifying his room and moving everything out, all without alerting the other residents to what's going on. (Or, at least, Dick  _hopes_ the other residents were unaware.)

Not knowing what else to do, he pulls everything inside the room and then heads out, intent on finding Slade and asking what the hell happened. He passes many familiar faces along the way, and a good portion of them call out friendly greetings, one or two asking for a rematch.

"Robin," someone calls out from down the hall, once Dick's reached the elevator. He turns and sees a woman heading towards him, one Dick knows is in Slade's inner circle. Her name is _A-_ something. She has a giant black eye, her arm is in a sling, and her shoulder is heavily wrapped in bandages, but otherwise she looks completely content.

"Hi," Dick says, for lack of anything else. "What's up?"

"Slade's in the small dining room; that's on the second floor, just past his study. He says you can join him there for food, or you can go to the Mess Hall down on the first floorup to you."

Dick wonders if at this point, Slade finds it funny to offer him choices.

"Thank you," he says, because Alfred raised a polite individual. "I'll go meet up with him." The woman nods and then heads off down the hall, vanishing around a corner.

Part of Dick wants to go down and eat in the Mess Hall with the rest of Slade's men; he actually had some fun yesterday sparring with them, and they seem a generally companionable group. It would certainly be less stressful than sitting with Slade. But Dick has questions, and the man in charge is the one with answers.

Which is how he finds himself entering a small dining room, set like a fucking palace, with Slade at the head of the table. Music's playing faintly in the background, something that sounds kind of like Queen, and Slade has a laptop open next to his plate.

A laptop. An actual, honest-to-god,  _working_ laptop. And Dick thought a fucking  _iPod_ was shocking.

"Dick," Slade greets without looking up. "Did you sleep well?"

Dick doesn't reply, walking over to sit down. There's cereal, scrambled eggs, fruit, and bacon on the table. Dick stares.

A soft laugh eventually drags Dick's gaze away, and he sees Slade looking at him, lips tilted in amusement.

"See something you like?" he teases.

"You have bacon," Dick says, blinking. "Actual bacon. Andeggs. Bowls of fruit. How...?"

"Two years in and you're still shocked by the things I can get access to?" Slade asks, raising an eyebrow. "I always told you, Dickstaying here you'll never want for anything. If I can custom-make escrima sticks then I can certainly get some bacon."

That's the best answer he's going to get, Dick supposes. He starts taking some food, putting it on his plate. It is, of course, delicious. _God,_ it's good. How is it possible that there are people who can still eat like this every day? The entire country was razed and yet Slade is living like nothing's changed.

"How did my stuff get here?" Dick asks next.

Slade smiles, looking pleased. "I had some of my men drive Wally and Kaldur away from here, a few hours past the Cave. Then from there, they sent out a little radio signal on the walkie-talkies you possess for your friends to pick up. I knew that they'd all immediately go out, hoping to find their lost people, and so while they were gone I entered the Cave, grabbed your things, and was gone before they'd even  _reached_ Wally and Kaldur."

Dick stares at him, lips parted, eyes slightly wide. "That is..."  _diabolical, genius, clever, insane,_ "...well done."

Slade sends him a smirk, obviously knowing what Dick is thinking, but not commenting. "Sofour rooms you can use. Two on the third floor, two on the second, though the ones on the second would require moving a lot of things other places. Wintergreen put yellow sticky notes on the four doors; feel free to go take a look and then let me know."

Dick nods, still surprised by the actual  _options_ Slade is giving him, and says, "Thanks."

They finish eating in silence, and Dick wishes it felt more awkward. He doesn't ask what Slade is working on, nor does he ask what's on the sheet of paper one of his men brings him halfway through. Slade always has something or another going on.

When he finishes eating, he goes looking for the rooms. As Slade said, four doors have yellow post-it notes stuck to them, making them easy to locate. Dick ends up picking one of the two rooms on the third floor; it has really great sightlines of the front of the compound, the front gates and beyond it easily seen. The downside to it is that it's only two doors away from Slade's bedroom, but Dick weighed the options and he really likes the ability to see everyone coming.

The next few weeks are an adjustment. There's a routine Dick's settled into the past almost-four years, a routine that was necessary when he and his friends were fighting to survive every day. Now, though, he lives in a very stable society, and he doesn't have to work so hard all the time. Also, he's no longer  _responsible_ for people; it's no longer his job to keep people alive.

Frankly, Dick doesn't know what to do with that.

Slade tells him that eventually, he'll start going out on jobs and missions, and since Dick agreed to work for him, he just nods. Dick doesn't exactly know what the hell Slade's people do on these  _jobs_ and  _missions,_ but he figures it can't be that much different from the trips he went on for his family.

Three weeks in, Dick encounters Roy for the first time.

He's walking from the market to the compound, laughing with a few of the men _(because Dick actually takes a liking to some of them, against his better judgment)_ , when he feels a pair of eyes on him. He lifts his gaze, searching, and spots Roy standing on the steps with Samuel, currently being pat down.

Pat down, Dick notices, with far more attention than Dick has ever received after the first time; they see Roy as an outsider, a possible threatfor some reason, they've never viewed Dick that way, despite how Dick wishes they did.

The look on Roy's face is incredulous, which Dick supposes is reasonable; not only is Dick here without the people he's been dedicated to for almost four years, but he looks healthy and content surrounded by Slade's people.

Dick really,  _really_ wishes he didn't. He really,  _really_ wishes he could go back to the Cave and be with his friends.

Samuel glances up as Dick approaches, offering the boy a smile. "Hey, Rob," he says, finishing patting Roy's legs down and getting to his feet. "I have a supply run to get toyou mind escorting this guy for me? Wilson's in the Gallery."

Dick nods, not looking at Roy. "Sure. Good luck," he adds, because he actually likes Samuel.

The man smiles crookedly. "I'll need it," he says wryly. "We're going to be meeting up with Rose on the way back."

Dick snorts. "Have fun with that." He eyes dart quickly to Roy, and then away. "See you, Samuel." He heads for the door and Roy silently falls into step with him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dick can see the elder boy watching him. His eyes notice the weapons still attached to Dick's back, the knife strapped to his thigh. He sees the ease with which Dick navigates the compound, the way people greet him as he goes. It's clear as day that Dick is a member of this community.

"How?" Roy asks eventually. His voice is tense.

"You're here to take care of your daughter and Jade; I'm here to take care of those I love, too." His answer is evasive, but true nonetheless.

"But-"

"It's good to see you, Roy," Dick interrupts. He stops walking, and Roy stills, too. There's a furrow between the archer's brows, and his lips are pursed. He's unhappy, but Dick lets it roll right off; Roy has always been short-tempered and prideful, and this barely registers. "It's been a long time."

Of course, he shouldn't have expected Roy to let it go the way Dick clearly wants him to.

"You're not just doing jobs for Wilson," the archer says tightly, "you  _live_ here, don't you? They haven't confiscated your weapons, everyone knows you, you walk around here easilywhat the hell, Robin? Have you turned to the dark side?"

Dick narrows his eyes. "You have no right to talk to me like that!" he snaps. "You  _left_ us, do you remember? We  _needed_ you, and you  _left_ us. You don't get to judge me when you haven't seen me in four goddamn years."

Roy looks away, irritated, and then says, "You never needed me, not really."

Dick snorts, and then starts walking again, a few more feet to the Gallery. "Whatever, Roy." He knocks sharply, and waits for Slade's call to enter before he pushes the door open.

This roomreferred to as  _the Gallery_ is the weapons room. It is...extremely well stocked. The first time Dick saw it, his jaw actually dropped.

Slade's sitting at one of the tables, cleaning an array of guns. Dick sees Roy tense at the sight of the walls covered in weapons, the shelves and cases; Slade has enough firepower to defend a small nation if he wanted to.

The man glances up at them and sets the gun in his hands down. "Ah, Harper, good to see you again. Little bird, did Samuel leave?"

_You motherfucker-!_

Roy goes rigid, his eyes widening as he turns to gape at Dick. Dick glares hatefully at Slade and only receives a smirk and a wink in return.

"You were that boy!" Roy shouts, outraged. "The one who-"

He cuts himself off, his cheeks flaming to match his hair. But Roy has never been one to be held back by something as stupid as _embarrassment,_ and so he continues.

"I _knew_ there was something familiar about you; you have a fucking scar on your arm andwell, this explains how he knows my moniker, doesn't it?" He clenches his jaw. _"Fuck,_ Robin, what the hell are you _doing?"_ A sneer takes over his expression. "Working for this asshole wasn't enough, huh? You had to fuck him, too?"

Dick is in his worst-case scenario right now, but his shame takes a backseat to his rage. Or maybe fuels it, too.

"You don't get to talk to me like that," he growls. "Can I point you back to the fact that you  _abandoned_ us? Your opinion doesn't mean  _jackshit,_ Speedy. Don't get on your high goddamn horse when you're  _here,_ doing jobs for Slade."

"I'm here for my family!" Roy shouts back. "Getting money for  _them._ You're-"

"Doing the same thing!" Dick interrupts. "And the difference between us is that you only have  _two_ people to take care ofI have  _six,_ in case you forgot."

Then he turns away sharply, looking to Slade. The man's eye is dark, his smile smug, and Dick wants nothing more than to punch him. "To answer your fucking question, Samuel is just about to leave." He takes a couple steps and hops up to sit on one of the tables, glowering.

He hates this. He hates this he hates this he  _hates this._

Why did Slade have to do that? Roy hadn't made the connection yet, might not've at all. That was simply cruel and unnecessary.

 _Why did you expect any better?_ he sneers at himself.  _This isn't your fairy godmother, this is_ Slade. _He did this simply because he wanted to, without a care for your wishesjust like always._

"Thank you," Slade says, inclining his head, smirk still fixed to his lips. Then he looks at Roy, turning his attention away from the irate boy. "I assume you have something for me?"

Roy's jaw is clenched, his chest heaving under the force of his outraged breaths, and then he grits out, "Yes, I do." He yanks off his bag and unzips it, pulling something out. He tosses the item onto the table in front of Slade.

Dick glances over, curious despite himself, and then freezes. All of his anger at what just happened takes second place to what he's seeing.

"What the hell," he breathes. Slade doesn't even glance at him. Roy does, but quickly drags his burning gaze away, locking onto Slade's face.

"Good job," Slade says, and sounds like he means it. He opens a drawer behind him, pulls out a bulging envelope, and tossing it to the archer. "Was it challenging?"

"It was stupid," Roy shoots back, and starts counting the money. His body is tense as a livewire. "Don't you have better things to do than chase ghosts?"

Slade smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Pleasure as always, Harper."

Roy accepts that for the dismissal it is and turns to go. He stops in the doorway, hesitates, and then glances back at Dick. His expression is troubled. "Get out, Robin," he says quietly. "This isn't the place for you." And then he's gone.

The door clicks shut, and Dick pops to his feet. "What the  _hell_ Slade?" he yells.

Slade leans back in his seat and raises an eyebrow at the boy. "Which issue are you yelling about this time?"

Dick takes a deep breath and ignores the urge to dart forward and punch Slade solidly across the face. The man knows  _exactly_ what Dick's problem is, but he's a fucking asshole and is going to act oblivious. And after  _everything_ the man just pulled, Dick has very little patience.

"Why did Roy just give you Wonder Woman's vambraces?" he gets out between gritted teeth.

"Did you know them?" Slade asks curiously, completely ignoring Dick's questions. Dick narrows his eyes and doesn't reply. Slade smiles.

"Y'know, when we met, I was pretty sure that you were just some kid who wanted to fight for the rebellion. Less likely in the ruling class but not unheard of, and I barely stopped myself from simply taking you away from your airheaded father to train you.

"And then when Joey told me about you, after everything went to shit, it was clear you'd had some training, which led me to believe that you'd been successful in your attempts to join the rebellion. But you know what's  _interesting_ about that, Dick?" Slade leans forward, gaze keen. "I've spent a good amount of time in your company, and you don't fight like a foot soldier. You fight like the best."

"Flatterer," Dick says dryly, easily hiding the lead ball forming in his chest. Rage has been replaced by anxiety, and he almost wishes he could go back.

Slade hums, lips twitching. "In fact, at nine years old you were throwing  _actual_ daggers, and throwing with accuracy over a twenty-foot distance. So really, you must've been training by that point, right? You knew what you were doing. So my question, Dick, is did you know them?"

"Who?" Dick asks; two can play at oblivious. Slade isn't bothered.

 _"The Big Three._ Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman. The leaders of the rebellion, their identities the closest guarded secret in the world. Batman was based in Gotham, little bird; did you find him? Did you convince him to let you fight?"

Dick says nothing. Slade's smile grows.

"You recognized these-" he taps a finger on the vambraces, "-instantly. In fact, it was your reaction that told me Harper wasn't bullshitting, that he'd brought me the real things. You've been close to Wonder Woman, close enough to know her armor. How many times did you meet her? Do you know their identities, or just Batman's?"

Dick narrows his eyes, and then forces his body into relaxation. "I plead the fifth," he drawls, smiling charmingly.

The fact that Slade still thinks Bruce Wayne is a moron is utterly delightful to Dick, but he still doesn't like how close to the truth Slade's gotten.

Slade snorts and shakes his head. "Sure, kid. Sure."

"Why did you want those, anyway?" Dick asks, exasperated.  _And does it mean that Diana is dead?_

"Ever since we rescued all those men from the gov base, my force has grown," Slade says. "Three quarters of the men chose to join us, and the rest said that if we ever needed help, that we should go to them. We've made up for the people who died and then some. Some of my people have suggested maybe doing it again, on other bases. Not only would it get rid of those awful gov fuckers, but it could make us stronger."

"And?"

 _"And,_ there was a rumor a little bit ago that Wonder Woman had been taken captive."

Dick startles.  _Diana._ Slade arches an eyebrow, easily spotting the motion.

"People who used to be part of the rebellion have said that her vambraces possess a small computer that she utilized to communicate with her partners in crime, as well as a tracker linked to her other important items, and the men's. I thought that maybe, using these things, we could locate those other trackers, and possibly the three people who owned them."

"How do you plan to get them to work, if it's true?" Dick asks, tilting up his chin.

Slade lifts them up, examining them closely, and then pushes them across the table towards Dick. "Oh, I'm not.  _You're_ going to get them working for me."

Dick barks out a laugh. "Why the hell do you think I can do that? Or that I  _would_ do that, if I could?"

Because the thing is that Slade's not wrong. Wonder Woman's vambraces, Batman's arm guards, and Superman's armored bracelets all spoke to each other, all could track each other, all connected to the same system. In a world where contact was next to impossible, it had sometimes been their only form of communication.

There is  _no way_ Dick would give Slade access to that. He couldhe had Bruce's codes, and Diana's, and Clark'sbut he would  _never_ betray the trust they put in him. If they are really still out there  _(possibly injured, possibly captured)_ then Dick isn't going to make it easier for a man like Slade to get a hold of them.

The fact that Roy found these things at all...

 _Fuck, Diana, don't be dead. If_ you're _dead, what does that mean for my dad?_

"I definitely think you can," Slade says easily, smiling, "and I'm just about 90% certain that you  _will."_

"Oh, do tell," Dick sneers.

"Time for a new deal, Dickyou get these working for me, however the fuck that happens, and I won't put a bullet in Harper's head."

Dick gapes at him, eyes as wide as they can go.  _"What?"_

"I asked some of my men to detain young  _Speedy_ before he left, so that you and I could have this conversation. So give me access, or sentence your friend to die." He tilts his head. "I'm assuming you don't want that, after all the shit you've been through to keep your friends safe."

"Are you fucking-" Dick starts to ask  _are you serious,_ but he knows that the man isn't bluffing. Slade has no problem sentencing Roy to death if it means he gets what he wants.

"You're asking me to let you into the rebellion's core!" Dick shouts. "That'syou can't ask me that!"

Slade smirks, pleased, like the cat that caught the canary.  _"Ah._ Done pretending to be in the minor leagues, are we? Good. You  _did_ know them."

"Yes," Dick snaps, "I did.  _Do._ And you're right, her vambraces possess a mini but powerful computer. And I can't give you that!"

"Okay," Slade agrees easily, still smirking, "then Harper dies."

"God  _dammit!"_ Dick yells, and slams a fist down on the table. "Are you incapable of being a human being?"

"Make a decision, little bird," Slade purrs. "Your friend's life, or the possible locations of the Big Three."

One of those consequences is immediateRoy losing his life. He might be angry, but he doesn't want him _dead._ The other outcome could have more time, and might not even  _work._ Dick has to do this, he does. But the act of betraying Bruce like this, even in such a small way...it's horrifying.

Dick swipes up the vambraces and backs away, sitting down at another table. He lets out a sharp breath, hating himself for this, and then presses his thumb firmly against the inside of one of them, in the small circle that's not noticeable unless you're looking right at it. The device immediately scans his fingerprint and recognizes it, the computer coming to life.

A small, electronic keypad appears, and Dick puts in Diana's code, sneering down at it hatefully when it works like he knew it would.

"Here," Dick spits bitterly, and extends them towards Slade. "It's done."

Slade gets up and moves towards him, then takes the offered items. He stares down at the lit screen and then starts to laugh.

"Your  _fingerprint?_ Are you serious?" Slade shakes his head incredulously, still chuckling. "Oh, you more than  _knew_ them. Wonder Woman had black hair and blue eyesany relation? Is that why all it takes is a single touch and you have access?"

And that's just about the most ironic thing Dick's heard in a while.

"Is Roy safe?" he asks, glaring hatefully up at the man.

Slade waves a hand dismissively. "Yes, Harper'll be fine; I'll say he can be let go. For now, you're dismissed."

Dick blinks and startles. "Excuse me? No! You just-"

 _"Dismissed,_ Robin," Slade says firmly. Then he smirks a little. "I'll let you know when you need to know something."

"But-"

 _"Goodbye,_ Dick.  _Now."_

Dick hesitates; he can't leave now! He's moments away from knowing if Slade was right, if there's still a signal from the other trackers. He's moments away from knowing a possible location of his father, something's he's been craving for four years. He can't just leave

He leaves all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! 2 chapters, 1 day. Chapter 3 is gonna take longer because it's only partially-written as opposed to the others which were complete other than some proofreading.
> 
> Hope you stick around, and hope you enjoyed!


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